A Hard Days Work
by Marmite2405
Summary: "He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgettin' What he wrote down, the whole crowd goes so loud He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out" - Eminem.


**A Hard Days Work **

**A little one shot that came into my head whilst reading a Hilson Fanfic. **

**Please Read and Review! Im trying to get my writing mojo back. **

**Enjoy! **

Only Wilson knows the kind of issues House faces day to day. He's good at pretending that nothing is wrong. He goes about the day, maybe not like other people, but to a certain extent normally. He has few safety nets , his PSP or his portable tv. But some days it's harder to hide than others.

Wilson wakes alone the next morning. The left side of the bed cold. He sits up and rubs his eyes, trying to predict what kind of state he would find House in today. He raises himself off the double bed. His bare feet cold against the wooden floor.

The first thing he sees are the big headphones placed over Houses ears. Music is Houses escape and Wilson knows this. Wilson had bought this pair for Houses birthday 4 years ago and since then House has refused to use any other. The headphones are sound proof which allows House to only focus on the music and block out any other annoying sound, including Cuddy.

He pads over and gently takes his seat on the seat on the sofa.

On days like these, House is easily startled. He has to tread carefully.

House turns, feeling Wilson's weight.

"Hey, are you in there?" Wilson approaches softly.

House nods slowly, gaze still distant. Now that House knows that he's present, he lays his hand on his leg. The right amount of touch to try and ground House, but not too much to frighten him.

House removes his headphones and his gaze lands on Wilson, not directly giving eye contact but more landing on His nose.

"Mmmm, mmmmyy speeea .. ch" House stumbles. He can see the focus in his eyes. The focus on trying to get the correct words out.

It's not that House has a speech problem. He sometimes doesn't know when to shut up. It's just that Houses brain sometimes shuts down. It can't process the words that he needs to say because it's trying to process too much that speaking becomes less of a priority.

Today is bad though. Wilson has been expecting something to happen this week. Houses patient is dying and the parents are not happy. They kept turning up demanding answers which House had yet to figure out. The stress had been building up and House had become more distant and shut off.

"You know Cuddy won't let you slack off just because you can't talk." House smirks. Humour always helps to calm House.

"I haven't got any appointments today, just rounds so I can sit in and help. Just prompt."

"T, t, team" House stutters.

"Cancer consult. You need me there to be able to dismiss it of course." Wilson stands up, holding both his hands out for House to take. House just glares at them in annoyance

"If you come to work, I promise we can shower together?" House instantly grabs both his hands and practically drags Wilson to the bathroom.

—

Post it notes cover his desk. Colour coordinated and in an order House can understand. To the untrained eye it looks like nonsense. Random words on paper. But everything had their link. They're place on the desk.

He has open a speaking guide on his laptop. The one Nolan suggested. He doesn't find it helpful though. But a man can hope it will one day help. He practices the breathing and syllables to say upon them.

"House!"

House turns his gaze towards the women in front of him. He can tell she's angry by the way she's stood, hands on hips and lips held in a straight line.

He lets out a sigh, groaning. He was hoping to avoid she devil today.

"Clinic duty! You've not turned up in the last week." She bellows. House instantly flinches at the loud voice. He would usually be able to give it back to her in full force. That was if his brain had decided to get into gear and work today.

He focusses hard on the words he is going to say, saying each syllable out in his head.

"Pa-tient dy-ing." He smiled in approval of how it came out. Cuddy gave a curious look but dismissed it as House trying to wined her up.

"Stop being a jerk House. I don't need it spelling out. But your 8 hours behind on your clinic duty. Your patient hasn't been dying all week."

She wonders closer to the desk to look at what House was so intently looking at.

He turns off the screen quickly.

"Nott forrrr your eyeees" He smirked.

House doesn't catch onto the heavy sigh, or the anger in the eyes. She's about to blow but House is oblivious.

"Stop talking like that! Your not a retard. Get off porn and get your ass in the clinic now!"

House visibally grabbed his tennis ball harder. Her words sending a chilling shiver down his spine.

"Don't ... callll ... meee a reeetard!" He was shaking like an animal, anger welling up inside of him. Ever sound, every smell, every moment is intensified as his thoughts crowd his brain, fighting for overall dominance.

"What's wrong with you House?! You really are as weird as people think."

She turned on her heels and walked away.

Hearing the commotion, Wilson jumps from his seat and exits his office. He practically sprints to Houses office, bumping into Cuddy.

"What's going on?" Wilson questioned. He peered into the room. House was behind the desk chair, back against the wall. Alarm bells began to ring.

He ignores Cuddy's strange look and dashes inside.

He looks upon the broken the shell of his best friend, every inch of him screaming help.

Houses breathing is heavy, eyes glazed over.

Wilson kneels down, feeling his knees crack under the strain.

"Greg, it's James. Can you talk to me?"

Of course he can't, Wilson berated himself. He feels a twinge of pain run through his body at the sight of his loved one so distressed.

"R,R tarrr" House whispers so quietly that Wilson has to strain to hear him. Tears trickle down his reddened face, leaving streaks.

"No Greg, come on, come back to me."

"Da, dadd" House sobs, burying his head in his arms. He wills for his father to leave. He wished he could speak like normal children and make his parents proud.

"You're not a retard, your clever and smart and proved the bastard wrong"

Wilson has been through this particular flashback before. All he wants to do is hold him. Give some comfort. He also knows that it could set House off in the state he was in. He has to wait until House makes the move. He could be waiting a very long time.

Wilson sits closer to Greg so their knees and shoulders were touching. He whispers quiet reassurances that his father wasn't there. That he was their to protect him

"Bammmbi"

House looks over towards Wilson and then gently lays his head to rest in Wilson lap.

Wilson sighs in relief knowing the worst is over. He runs his hand through Houses silky hair in a soothing gesture.

Wilson's nickname is bambi in times like this, when House struggles to put together words with more than two syllables in. It was all because of Wilsons obsession with Disney films, which House thought was funny. But it is always Wilson usually. They're not into soppy nicknames.

"What's going on? House?" Cuddy had re-entered to complain about Houses lack of presence at the clinic. She had stormed off before, frustrated at Houses ignorance.

"Cuddy, can you draw the blinds please. I think he's drifting off to sleep and he wouldn't want anybody to see him like this."

Cuddy looks upon the defeated form of House. The way he lay on Wilson's lap made him look younger but also vulnerable. It is as if Wilson was the father, lulling his young son to sleep.

"What's happened?" Cuddy whispers, as to not wake House.

Wilson looks on House. The sound of soft snoring tells him that House was sound asleep on his lap.

"You can't tell him I told you this Cuddy."

"What cant I?" She throws herself on Houses office chair.

"Just promise me Cuddy?"

"Yes I promise. What's wrong."

"House has Autusm spectrum disorder."


End file.
